Coming Home
by The Forever Young One
Summary: John is lost without Sherlock. Lots of angst and sadness. But a happy ending! Post-Reichenbach. So yes, spoilers. Cover picture belongs to VoydKessler from deviantart. Enjoy! Rated T for language Can be slash if you look at it right.


_**AN:** Well, here's my first attempt at a Sherlock fanfiction. Its kind of sad in the beginning. It might also be a little confusing. Also, SPOILERS FOR THE REICHENBACH EPISODE. Also, when the word(s) "he, him, his" are in bold...well, you should figure it out. Enjoy~_

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock, or any of the characters._

* * *

_"Goodbye, John."_

"Goddammit!"

He woke, sweating, crying, breathing heavily. Dammit. Dammit. _Dammit! _He half expected **him **to come bursting through the door. But that would be impossible because...because...

"Shut the hell up!"

He yelled to particularly no one.

Just...just fuck it.

He laid back down, listening to the rain as it pounded against the windows. A darkness crept into the room, and he could feel it coming. Another one. Another fucking _flashback. _That would make it twelve today. And god damn **him** wherever the hell **he** was (because **he **was not dead no matter what they said). And he knew that. Knew it. Believed it. If he didn't...he would be worse off.

And fuck **him**. Damn **him**. Screw **him**.

But he couldn't stop...couldn't forget.

_Can't forget._

Because then he...he would...

"FUCK!"

Another shout into the air. Because **he **was gone. And he was alone.

Forever. Always alone...hell, he'd asked, begged, no, pleaded for a miracle and look where that'd gotten him. He hadn't left his bed for three days now. But it had been two years. Two fucking years since the bastard had left. Had...had...

"Damn you."

That was it. He threw the covers back over his head and lay still, trying to sleep again. But he couldn't stop...couldn't stop thinking, _remembering. _Couldn't stop seeing...couldn't stop breathing.

Because he'd checked **his **pulse. There was none.

He was a doctor. He'd known...but...

And he'd been fine the first few months. He had taken to seeing his therapist. Had done what she'd asked, that is: writing everything down in a diary of sorts instead of a blog (because it reminded him too much of **him**). He'd been _fine. _But then he'd started seeing things. Hearing things. So he locked himself in the flat. In **his **room. He'd been there ever since. That was...

"Six months ago..." He murmured.

But **he **wasn't dead.

**He'd **be back eventually.

And so John waited.

John stayed.

"God dammit..."

xXxXx

"You're destroying him."

"I need a couple more months. It's still not safe."

"It's been a year, Sherlock! He _needs _you."

Said man frowned, "Give me a couple weeks. John is fine."

"He hasn't checked in with his therapist in months."

"Mycroft! John is _fine_."

And that was that. The man turned, coat flaring out, and left.

After all...John was fine, right?

_~Six months later~_

"Sherlock!"

The male turned, "What is it, Mycroft?"

"We've gotten the last one. You need to go back to him. Now."

"He is _fine._ I want to make sure they're all gone."

Mycroft shook his head, glaring, "He hasn't been out of the flat in six months!"

"What?" Stormy eyes widened.

"He's locked himself in. You need to go to him."

"Mrs. Hudson?"

"He's refused to see her."

"She has a key."

"He's barricaed himself in."

**His **eyes narrowed, "Take me to him."

xXxXx

A pounding caused his eyes to open. Fuck them and their sympathetic stares. He tried to ignore it but then...a shout...he could've sworn it sounded like...but he'd checked...but he also _believed. _He waited, still and silent like a statue. There! There it was again! **He **was calling his name. **He **was...**he **was here...? But...this had happened before. Still...it could be...be real...

"Shit..." He murmured.

Scrambling from the sheets, he stumbled as a wave of dizziness hit him. Forcing it away, he sprinted to the front door, manaing to ignore his limp. He tore at the furniture barricade with unclipped fingernails, not caring when they broke. Then, the door was open. And **he **was there. And for once in two long years, John smiled.

He staggered forward into **his **arms, tears streaming from his eyes.

"I'm sorry." **He **said.

John tried to speak, but only a breath of air came out.

He settled for nuzzling himself closer to **him**.

He felt **his **arms rap around him.

"I will never leave you again, John. I'm so sorry."

Said male only nodded.

He knew it was true.

Knew that he'd be okay too.

Because **he**, no...

Because **Sherlock** was home.

* * *

_**AN:** Please review~  
_


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